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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26823028">Spooktober/Goretober 2020</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceoftheLlamas/pseuds/SilenceoftheLlamas'>SilenceoftheLlamas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Transformers - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cannibalism, Dubious Morality, Halloween Prompts, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Scopophobia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:28:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,060</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26823028</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceoftheLlamas/pseuds/SilenceoftheLlamas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Halloween prompts for 2020! Tags to be updated as the work progresses.<br/>Chapter two: Containment breach</p><p>Chapter warnings given at the start of every chapter</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jazz/Prowl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Eyes (Jazz/Prowl, one sided)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I’ve always wanted to be able to join in a monthly challenge and actually see it through to the end. I know I wont be able to do every single day in October, but I really hope I can stick through with this one! I want to get thirty one prompts down, damn it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rain was harsh as it battered down against the window. The world outside was a blurry ocean, scattered lights from the stars reflecting from the surface of the waves.</p>
<p>“It looks like your departure will be delayed again. What a pity.” the Count commented. Jazz had slowly nodded. “Well, it is simply more time to discuss the contract, no?” He patted him on the shoulder before sweeping away, the thick furs draped across him fanning out behind him and brushing against Jazz’s legs.</p>
<p>“Of course.” Not that there was much more to go over.</p>
<p>He was supposed to have left <em>cycles</em> ago, but the weather had taken a swift turn for the worst and the water had risen rapidly, turning the Counts castle into an isolated island. Every attempt he made to suggest a method of transport was swiftly shot down – Count Prowl <em>always</em> had a reason why it was a terrible idea, and that it was simply easier to wait it out. Jazz found himself wondering, more than once, if part of it was simply due to how totally distrustful the locals seemed to be of him and of the castle. When Jazz was passing through, and mentioned where he was going, without fail he was met with religious symbols and hand signs, with prayers for his safety and trinkets pushed into his hands.</p>
<p>Jazz didn’t want to stay here a moment longer. He had loved ones waiting for him – his creators were waiting intently for his safe return. But the Count did not care. Family was not something he seemed to have any interest in, and simply did not understand that just because things were unimportant to him it did not mean that they were unimportant to everyone.</p>
<p>The Count lead them through the same old hallways, and the same old rooms. As always, the castle seemed to be totally empty and void of any other life. The only signs of others were the portraits that lined the walls, featuring black and white mechs.</p>
<p>Jazz had asked about them before. The Count had been somewhat defensive, sharply stating that they were family, and Jazz didn’t mention it again.</p>
<p>But the isolation was starting to drive him crazy. If he died, he was free. Any kind of reaction from the Count would be a welcome change from the usual monotonous trawl of day to day life there.</p>
<p>“You mentioned the mecha in the portraits being family?” Jazz casually asked.</p>
<p>“Yes! My family.” Count Prowl replied, seemingly much more cheerful this time. “My uncle,” He gestured to a portrait, “a very successful trader. Loved a good game of chess.” He continued on, signing for Jazz to follow. “And here, my great-great-grand sire. A poet. Was very famous in his time.” They continued like this for what felt like hours – the Count giving the history of every single mech. Every. Single. One.</p>
<p>It would have been impressive, if Jazz didn’t get the impression that Count Prowl knew every single one of them personally.</p>
<p>That evening, as Jazz retired to his chambers, Count Prowl bidding him goodnight, Jazz couldn’t help but shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong.</p>
<p>On his first few cycles at the Castle, he had felt deeply unsettled by the portraits, and couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched by them. They didn’t move – he was sure of that much – but they felt… <em>alive</em>. The feeling had eventually faded. Jazz supposed that he had become accustomed to it. But spending that time with them again today, learning their names, their history, simply reawakened the feeling with a vengeance.</p>
<p>Recharge would not be visiting him that night. Jazz simply waited for the clock to strike midnight, and slipped out of his chambers to investigate.</p>
<p>The Castle was eerily quiet as he crept along. There was no light to speak of – he relied on the faint glow of his visor alone. The wind still howled around them, whistling between the towers. His fingers brushed along the wall to keep him on path, and eventually he reached what he was looking for – a portrait.</p>
<p>He stood and leaned in closely.</p>
<p>Black and white, the paint dull.</p>
<p>Optics, bright and glowing.</p>
<p>Jazz looked away before his processor caught up with itself, and his optics snapped back. Glowing. Alive. Moving. <em>Staring right back at him.</em></p>
<p>He back-pedalled, back slamming into the wall behind him and vents coming hard and fast.</p>
<p>The face of the portrait fell, and the optics dimmed, but no other movement occurred. He swallowed hard. Maybe he’d just imagined it?</p>
<p>A creak in the floorboards. Jazz’s neck clicked at the speed that he turned his helm. A pair of glowing optics stared at him from the darkness, hovering where Jazz thought was an empty space.</p>
<p>“H-hello?”</p>
<p>Another creak to the other side of him. Jazz’s fuel pump sped up significantly. Two more pairs of optics.</p>
<p>He was not alone. Company was suddenly of no comfort at all.</p>
<p>“My my <em>my</em>, what do we have here?” The lone pair said, voice deep and gravelly. “A lost mech?”</p>
<p>“Silly mech, didn’t you know it’s not safe at night? Did your creators not teach you anything?” One of the others said. Jazz sunk down into a little ball on the floor, covering his hands with his face. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. He was just so, so utterly terrified that he was imagining all of these horrible things, and he was about to wake up safe and sound in his own berth in his home city, the smell of his Sires cooking wafting up the stairs and-</p>
<p>“I did not expect you to be awake at this hour.”</p>
<p>Jazz peered up through his fingers, and saw that Count Prowl was looming over him. He swallowed hard.</p>
<p>“I found myself unable to sleep. I thought a short walk may help.” His fuel pump violently thudded in his chest and his voice shook.</p>
<p>“I see.” the Count didn’t sound convinced. He offered his arm. “Perhaps this will help?”</p>
<p>Jazz had no other choice but to accept the arm. He let the Count swiftly lead him through the castle, pace fast. How they didn’t trip over the furs on their frame Jazz didn’t know – it was task enough for him, and he wasn’t even the one wearing them!</p>
<p>The Count eventually threw open a door, bringing them into a conservatory. The view was not much – the storm had made sure of that – but the sound of the rain pattering on the glass roof… Jazz felt himself relax already. Count Prowl lead him to a plush sofa and instructed him to sit, assuring him that he would be right back, and swept off into a separate room.</p>
<p>Despite himself, Jazz felt himself sink down into the cushions. He felt warm, comfortable, and strangely enough, safe.</p>
<p>Until he heard a raised voice coming from the room Count Prowl had just disappeared off into.</p>
<p>Jazz turned his audials up all the way, but found that it didn’t help any. The sound of the rain and the crash of the waves outsid was too much. He couldn’t hear it clearly at all.</p>
<p>The door opened, and Jazz quickly pretended that he had been a good house guest and had simply been relaxing as his host had asked, listening to the soothing sound of the rain on the glass. The Count sat next to him, field rife with apology.</p>
<p>“My apologies for the interruption. However, I hope this brief interlude helped you some?”</p>
<p>“It did.” Jazz replied. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>The Count looked extremely pleased indeed, and allowed Jazz to stay as he pulled out a datapad and began to read. After some time had passed, Jazz almost falling into recharge beside him, Prowl placed a hand onto his shoulder and gently roused him, insisting that he slept in his berth and not on the uncomfortable old sofa.</p>
<p>As Jazz left with Prowl, he felt himself drawn to the door that Prowl had gone through. Three hungry pairs of optics stared out of the darkness.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Count Prowl had been much more observant of him after that.</p>
<p>Jazz didn’t dare to leave his chambers again at night. During the day, he felt safe – there were no dark corners for anyone to hide in, and the glow of the portraits was less obvious. He could pretend for a short while that it wasn’t real.</p>
<p>But he was haunted by nightmares, the three pairs of optics plaguing his mind. One cycle in a moment of weakness, he admitted it to Count Prowl.</p>
<p>Prowl had appeared apologetic, and had clasped both of Jazz’s hands as he implored him to find the courage to tell him these things sooner.</p>
<p>“How about this? Tonight, I collect you from your chambers. My brothers, you see, they are shy of the light. But if you can put a face to the voice, and see that they are quite harmless, you will be put at ease. I cannot bear to see my honoured guest so distraught.”</p>
<p>Jazz had agreed. That night, he paced. The rain still lashed down outside, a constant in his life now. He didn’t know how long it had been since he had last seen the light of their twin stars. He was yet to receive a letter, nor had there been any indication that Prowl had sent off his. It was… frustrating, and worrying. Somebody had to notice that they hadn’t had any correspondence from him. They simply <em>must</em> have noticed.</p>
<p>A faint tapping sound came from the window. Jazz looked up from his musings, and failed miserably at biting back his scream of fright.</p>
<p>Three pairs of optics stared back at him through the glass. He was on the<em> top floor</em> – how could anyone <em>possibly</em> be up here?!</p>
<p>Prowl came flying in moments later, breathing heavily as if he had been running. “Jazz! Jazz, what ever is the matter?” He grasped his hands. Jazz feebly pointed to the window, and Prowl turned to give it a harsh glare.</p>
<p>Nothing was there. Just the storm outside, rain running down the glass in thick rivets.</p>
<p>“T-there were faces there! In the window!” Jazz stammered. He looked at Prowl imploringly, begging him to believe him.</p>
<p>“Come.” Prowl placed a hand on the middle of his back, his cloak coming down to cover him. “Allow me to settle your nerves. You must be terribly sleep deprived to see things like that, you poor thing.”</p>
<p>Jazz’s spark sunk. Of course the strange, strange Count didn’t believe him.</p>
<p>They descended back down the stairs, and through the long and winding halls. Jazz stuck close to the Count despite himself, and he hated himself for it. But it was all he could do to stop the dread from truly settling in.</p>
<p>Prowl stopped by a large, luxurious door. Jazz recognised it as his study – they had spent much time in there, going over documents and contracts. Their early days were so strange. All Prowl had wanted was to buy art. And only now, Jazz belatedly realised as he stepped over the threshold beside Prowl, did it occur to him that Prowl simply did not have the <em>space</em> for the items he had purchased.</p>
<p>Three mechs were waiting inside. One pitch black with splashes of purple, one a gaudy mix blue and yellow, and another very simple and muted shades of red and grey.</p>
<p>Jazz slowly looked between the three, and then back up at the Count as if asking for an explanation.</p>
<p>“My brothers.” He replied, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture towards them. “Barricade, Smokescreen, and Bluestreak.” He gestured to them in turn. “My apologies for not introducing you sooner.”</p>
<p>“He doesn’t like to share.” Barricade snidely commented. He bowed. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”</p>
<p>“Likewise.” Jazz held out his hand. Barricade took it, holding it just a little too firmly for Jazz’s comfort, and briefly shook it.</p>
<p>Smokescreen looked him up and down, studying him intently. “It’s so good to finally see you when you are awake.” He purred.</p>
<p>“Uhm-?”</p>
<p>“It’s so nice to finally meet you! The Count speaks of you often, I’ve really really been looking forwards to finally see what all the fuss is about! And wow, he is right, you really are pretty! I love your visor. What is it made of?” He shook his hand with much less aggression than his brother. “Ah, sorry, the Count often tells me to hold my tongue. Apparently I talk too much.”</p>
<p>“You do.” Prowl rumbled. “Jazz, I apologise, but if you could excuse us for a moment? Feel free to do as you like, but please, do not touch anything on my desk.”</p>
<p>“Of course.” Jazz bowed. The four mechs filed out of the room, and Jazz slowly paced the room.</p>
<p>It was a simple enough room. He had often seen it in the light of day, and it did not look much different under artificial lighting. It still stood out as one of the only rooms Jazz had been in that did not feature any family portraits. Bookshelves lined the walls, full of tomes of every subject under the stars. Some were even in a language Jazz did not recognise – a feat in itself – and some seemed to be older than the building they lived in.</p>
<p>He eventually sat in his usual seat – a plush chair opposite the desk, and his optics naturally fell onto the documents that lay out before him.</p>
<p>The Count had said not to touch anything. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t <em>look</em>.</p>
<p>An address. A <em>Polyhexian</em> address. Jazz leaned forwards to take a better look -</p>
<p><em>His</em> address.</p>
<p>Looking behind him, Jazz weighed his options. He knew that he shouldn’t have. He knew that he really shouldn’t. But the temptation was simply too great – Jazz picked up the envelope, slid out a fraction of the letter, and took a peek.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>It is with great sorrow that I write to you to inform you of Jazz’s passing.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His spark froze in his chest. His pump thudded in his audials as he pulled out the rest of the letter, optics flying over the lies. The chair clattered over behind him as he suddenly stood.</p>
<p>Prowl had wove a web of tales, excuses as to why Jazz hadn’t yet returned. Without the other letters he couldn’t be sure, but just the one was enough to give him a good idea of the picture his creators had been fed. He had apparently become extremely sick. Contagious. They were not to visit. They had done all they could to heal him.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Prowls engine purred behind him, and Jazz quickly dropped the letter and spun around. When had he gotten there?! “it is so unfortunate that you couldn’t keep your promise to me, Jazz.”</p>
<p>“What is this?!” Jazz angrily demanded. “You told me that I couldn’t leave because of this storm,” he gestured aggressively to the windows, “but the I read that you’ve been lying to my loved ones? Claiming that I am sick?”</p>
<p>“A necessary evil.” Prowl wrapped his arms around him and held him there with surprising strength, Jazz struggling to free himself. The three brothers entered the room again, Bluestreak settling back into his position perched on the edge of the desk, Barricade lounging on the love seat, and Smokescreen leaning against the wall. The three of them silently watched, mere spectators. They made no move to join in.</p>
<p>“Let me go! I want to go home!” Jazz pushed fruitlessly at his chest and his arms, kicking his legs. Despite how his punches and kicks connected, Prowl didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. There was no reaction.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry Jazz, I cannot offer you your freedom any longer.” Prowl tightened grip on him, and fear gripped at Jazz’s spark. “Tonight, and forever, you shall belong to me.” He tilted his head to the side, and Jazz had a terrifying moment of realisation that he was about to be kissed that was quickly replaced with surprise at just how <em>soft</em> Prowls lips were.</p>
<p>His body went limp. Prowl held onto him with surprising ease as he ragdolled, and simply scooped him up into both arms and carried him over to the empty frame.</p>
<p>“Where will you hang this one?” Bluestreak asked, chin in his hands as he eagerly watched. His doorwings twitched and flicked happily.</p>
<p>“My chambers.” Prowl purred as he pushed Jazz’s body into the canvas. There was a slight resistance, as if one were pushing their finger into jelly, but with a pop Jazz slipped inside and became one with the canvas. He settled in rather nicely, Prowl thought as he stepped back to admire his handiwork.</p>
<p>“Does this mean that it’s my turn now?” Barricade eagerly asked.</p>
<p>“Can’t even give a mech a moment to enjoy his prize.” Prowl tutted, shaking his head. “But yes. I do believe that Smokescreen has found you someone you may be interested in?” He turned to the blue and yellow mech.</p>
<p>Smokescreen grinned, still shuffling his cards. “Come with me, I’ll show you.”</p>
<p>Prowl turned back to his portrait of Jazz, the mech just starting to come back round again. He smiled.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Containment breach (First Aid)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Chapter warnings: Major character death, heavily implied suicide, and written in the first person.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>First Aid’s Log. Day one.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Something awful is happening.</p><p>Awful perhaps isn’t even the best way to describe it. Terrible? Horrifying, even?</p><p>I’m digressing. I’m stressed. I think we all are. We don’t know what’s doing this, or why – even how it’s getting <em>in</em>. All we know is that whatever it is, it’s eating the patients. One by one. There doesn’t seem to be any method of the sort – it just… targets, and it eats. We return in the morning with trepidation in our tanks and fear in our sparks, wondering who the next victim has been, and we quickly find them. Sometimes they have been left where they are, neatly laying in their berth, and we peel back the sodden blanket to find that they are missing all of their internal organs. Even the <em>optics</em>. More often, they’re sprawled out on the floor, faces in a frozen scream, energon splattered all over the floor in a grisly trail, and whatever organs the beast couldn’t finish still hanging out of their corpse.</p><p>But once, and this moment will never ever leave me, we found them pinned to the wall. Impaled there with medical equipment. We had to get help to remove them, we weren’t strong enough to do it ourselves. I haven’t ever seen Ironhide look so haunted.</p><p>Perhaps it is best that I start from the beginning. Ratchet told me that… that I should keep a diary. That it helps to write down everything that is on my mind, to process these things. Apparently it helps with memory, to have to recall every moment of your day.</p><p>Ratchet hopes that we will find something that we missed. A piece of the puzzle. I hope he’s right. I’m not sure how much longer I can handle this.</p><p>It started five months ago. We have lost five of us to this. On the night of the new moon, they had claimed their first victim.</p><p>I remember that day well. To begin with, it had been exciting – I had been brought out onto the field for the first time. Ratchet was worried that we – the protectobots – were too young. Too fresh, too new. Optimus had brought him to his senses. We were an asset, and we had been made to be used.</p><p>We had returned victorious. We were so happy, and joyful!</p><p>But then that night ripped everything away.</p><p>Given that there was a battle, the medbay, obviously, had patients. Ratchet had made sure they were all safe and stable, They were left for the night, and nothing was thought of it.</p><p>The next morning found us a medbay full of panicked mechs, a Bluestreak who is still yet to speak, and a dead mech.</p><p>We panicked. We all did. There were no signs of a break in, no signs of a fight, of a struggle – <em>nothing</em>. Security was upped. We didn’t relax for <em>weeks</em>. And then, one lunar cycle later, exactly 29 days, according to Carly, it happened again. We lost another.</p><p>What… inspired this diary, I suppose, is that it happened again. Last night. Another mech is dead. That makes six. Ratchet said it helps to retrace our steps, to think of who we saw, to create alibis. If I was with my gestalt, for example, then I couldn’t possibly be scooping the insides out of mechs in the medical bay. I overheard him speaking to Red Alert a few weeks ago. Apparently whatever it is isn’t detected on the cameras.</p><p>Last night, I was in the rec room. We were celebrating something. It doesn’t feel important now – it was probably something stupid, like Sideswipe beating his high score on Dance Dance Revolution. When terrible things keep happening, you find the little things to keep the darkness at bay. These little lights are what keep us going, and that’s exactly what I was doing. I… I was playing cards. With Mirage. And Smokescreen, Prowl, and Hound. Hound was taking pity on me, whispering hints into my audials. I’d never really played before. They all have vorns of experience over me. Jazz was there, too. Dancing, I think. Playing that game with the twins and Bluestreak. Blaster seemed to be having fun too.</p><p>My gestalt was scattered around the room, doing there own thing. We were all accounted for there. The only one I can think of was Ratchet, who was on duty in medical. I had wanted to swap shifts with him, so he could enjoy the party, but he had refused.</p><p>Ratchet didn’t see anything.</p><p>Nobody saw anything.</p><p>Not a single <em>thing</em>.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Day two</b>
</p><p> </p><p>We laid them to rest today. Traditionally. Their remains are in the vault – when we can, we hope to bury them on cybertron. Properly.</p><p>Now, I don’t want to point fingers, and I don’t want to lay blame on anyone. That is the direct <em>opposite</em> of what I want. I’m… I’m just going to be saying things how they are.</p><p>I am never working on these nights. I am always accounted for. My gestalt can attest to that. We watch movies together, we play games, we simply enjoy each others company. Sometimes I read while Blades plays video games next to me, or whilst Groove crochets. He’s started to make a team blanket for us – big enough to cover all of us when we sleep together, and thematic. The last time I saw it, he was working on Streetwise’s section.</p><p>Ratchet always works on the night of the new moon. He is the only one with full access to the medical bay who cannot be accounted for for a significant time.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Day ten</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Tensions are high. We’re all nervous.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Day eleven</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Another Decepticon raid on a nearby power plant. I went as back up, but I ended up getting separated from everyone. I found shelter in an abandoned building, and I stayed there. I… I must have fallen into recharge, and my team arriving woke me up. There was a dead Decepticon in there with me. I don’t know how I didn’t notice them until Streetwise spotted them. Their abdomen had been torn open, their innards scattered. It was hauntingly familiar.</p><p>Blades had made a joke about Vortex. It <em>did</em> seem like something that he would do. But it just didn’t feel right.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Day thirty five</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Not much is happening. It is business as usual, for now. Sunstreaker getting into a fight. Popping out dents. Making sure nothing was damaged. Leaving them to handle their own cosmetic touch ups, and to Prowls mercy.</p><p>Carly and Spike often visit. I like it when they do, they’re extremely nice people. It’s just a shame that we can’t interact on equal footing. I’d love to be able to sit on a soft sofa with them, and eat popcorn. Maybe even experience a drive in theatre with them. Bumblebee seemed to really like it when they went, but I don’t think we can get the full experience given we <em>are</em> the vehicle.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Day fifty eight</b>
</p><p> </p><p>It happened again.</p><p>They looked like they were sleeping.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Day sixty six</b>
</p><p> </p><p>I… I have a confession to make.</p><p>I’ve lied about what I’m doing on the nights of the new moon.</p><p>I… Primus, I feel nauseous. Nobody will ever read these, why am I so uncertain? But I must be strong.</p><p>I have no memory of those nights. No matter how I try, I simply <em>cannot</em> remember. These nights… The way the schedule works is that I always work nights, on a rotation. I have four weeks in a row of nights, and then a week on days. The new moon always falls into my day shifts. We… we sometimes have movie night. I watch a movie with my friends. And then, I go to bed. I think. I know I <em>want</em> to go to bed. I wake up there, always, but I don’t remember getting there, and I always feel…</p><p>I never feel well enough to eat breakfast. I think it’s the knowledge that someone is dead. I’m never hungry for it.</p><p>I cannot help but feel paranoid. Ratchet is always… there, always watching me. What is he doing? What is he thinking? Does he suspect me? <em>Me</em>? Of all mechs on this base?</p><p>He needs to go. I don’t feel safe. I feel exposed, and raw, and weak. I’m scared. I’m so, so scared.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Day seventy</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Apparently there’s a betting pool on who’s going to die next. Prowl is cracking down on it. I cannot help but feel the urge to find out who they think is next. Do I think I can save them?</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Day eighty seven</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Ratchet… Ratchet’s dead.</p><p>I’m scared. I’m terrified. That it was me. That I did it. I… I said that he needed to go. Why did I say that? I had no reason to. I wish I could say that I am confident that it wasn’t me, but I don’t remember anything. All I remember is that, this morning, I woke up and…</p><p>Ratchet was dead.</p><p>I scooped out all his organs. I must have. They weren’t in there. I don’t know where I put them.</p><p>No, no, that’s not right. They. Not I. <em>They</em>.</p><p>It wasn’t me.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Day Unknown</b>
</p><p> </p><p>I couldn’t help myself I’m sorry I’m so so sorry I couldn’t help myself I couldn’t stop it I couldn’t stop I couldn’t stop</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Day Unknown</b>
</p><p> </p><p>I feel so numb. We all do. We didn’t think… We didn’t think that Ratchet could die. We need him. We need him so badly. I’m so lost and confused. Grapple and Hoist are nice, and they’re good teachers, they’re just not who I need right now.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Day Unknown</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Another one is dead.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>First Aid’s second log, day one</b>
</p><p> </p><p>It is the day after the new moon. I… I don’t… I lost track...</p><p>I have new memories. The memories aren’t mine. I know they are not mine, because they are Huffers.</p><p>Huffer is dead. The beast ate his insides. This time, they cracked open the back of his helm and ate his processor, too.</p><p>I can still taste it on my tongue.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>Day two</b>
</p><p> </p><p>I couldn’t sleep. The blanket Groove is making is finished – we were all meant to be recharging under it. But I couldn’t. I don’t feel myself. I am… possessed with a thought, an idea. I need to prove something. To myself, to everyone, to Primus, I don’t know. I just <em>don’t</em> <em>know</em>.</p><p>I cracked open the vault. There must be <em>something</em> inside. Some clues we’ve missed. Prowl has already taken a look, with Streetwise and Nightbeat. Apparently this was what they did before the war. Not Streetwise, though – he’s barely minutes older than me. But he was made for it. Designed for it. Has the routines and protocols stored in his memory banks.</p><p>I could taste Huffers processor. His memories are now my own. His final moments are him going to recharge, Ratchet bidding him a goodnight.</p><p>If… if my thinking is correct, if I were to… Ratchets processor… his final moments. I’d see who did it.</p><p>Ratchets casket was easy enough to find. His name is written on it in large letters, and embellished in medical symbols. A monument to his achievements.</p><p>I reach inside, and he is in there waiting for me. I have to cover his optics over with one hand as I work, easing the back of his helm open and reaching inside to pluck out his processor.</p><p>...</p><p>There is someone coming.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Red Alert came in to find me on the floor, typing away on this datapad. He looked terrified. Apparently he saw the doors opening of their own accord on the security cameras, and had come down to investigate. He didn’t expect to find me in here.</p><p>We left together, and I’ve returned to my room. Alone. I don’t want company right now.</p><p>Ratchets processor was a challenge to swallow. I don’t know why I did it. Something possessed me to put it into my mouth, so I did without question. And… I swallowed.</p><p>But it gave me a confirmation I needed. I knew, somehow, deep in my spark that I was right all along. It is me. <em>I</em> am the beast, the terror. I am the one who I have vowed to stop.</p><p>I need to protect the crew. I need to stop myself. I just need to be strong enough to do it.</p><p>Streetwise has a gun.</p><p>The gun feels comfortable in my mouth.</p><p>To my team, if you ever read this, I am sorry, and I love you. May we meet again in the Well.</p><p>To Prowl, who will definitely be reading this, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to do any of it. Please melt my body. I don’t want to be coming back again. I’ve already taken too many lives.</p><p>To Grapple, and to Hoist. I’m sorry that I wasn’t a better student. I’m sorry that I’ve had to leave you with so much work.</p><p>To Wheeljack. I love you. I’m scared.</p><p>To Ratchet. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done. I can only hope that you will forgive me.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The first time I ever acknowledge Huffer in a fic and I straight up murdered him. I apologise to his fans.<br/>I would have liked to have made this longer and really drawn it out, but I’m trying to stick to a schedule and I am FULL of cold medicine. Maybe in the future I’ll do it.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Aaaaas you may have guessed, Dracula inspired this! Originally the Count was going to be Shockwave, and the brides were going to be the rainmakers. Buuuuuut then the idea of black and white themes came, and I just had to. Prowl was going to be Mina, the only character with a braincell. Instead he’s just a creep!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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